The KILLER in the BATHROOM
by etakkate
Summary: Booth's face pales and a cold sweat breaks out over his temples, "So, Brennan outright insulted a serial killer today… where does that leave her?" Sweets brow furrowed in a grave expression, "In great danger, Booth... in great danger." Follow the team as they nut out the case of the Streetwalker Strangler... can they get to him before he reaches Brennan? WARNING: Graphic violence
1. Chapter 1

**This is a darker Fanfiction... it's shared with the disclaimer of low level violence and smut... please do not continue if you are underage or are offended by such things.**

 **Good news is - there is sexy B &B romance and all 8 or so chapters are completely written and proofed... I just need to know they are wanted before they're posted... reviews are a good way of showing that... just sayin'**

 **Is that bribery? If so, I'm guilty as charged! Please read and review!**

 **This fic came to me in the shower and is set in Booth and Brennans' first house (before it was blown to smithereens)...**

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Booth toes off his shoes with an exhausted sigh, stumbling slightly over his feet across the threshold of his and Brennan's front door. It had been a long and draining week for the whole team, following the sickly scent of DC's most recently sought after serial murderer - the infamously labelled - Streetwalker Strangler.

The case they had been working on had been officially closed… Booth had shot dead the self-confessed murderer in a stand-off - a well decorated, ex-military/turned bodyguard working for the house of Leroux.

Despite the closure, Booth still has a niggling sensation, right at the base of his xiphoid process. The acidic burn of his ever bubbling gut suggests intuitively to him that this particular murder file may not be quite ready for the finality of the 'case closed' pile just yet.

…

 _Erik Leroux was a child born into a dynasty of red-carpeted, high-classed, unscrupulous drug merchants. Kept hidden beneath the shadows of their affluence, Erik brought himself up amongst a transient bevy of illicitly-paid, blood-stained bodyguards and a pretty line-up of painted, empty-eyed working girls._

 _Entitled, spoilt and stifled under the dark, indifferent side of his parents' treatment, Erik, although rather lonely, was confident and head-strong - believing himself to be the sole ruler of his world… and he was… up unto a certain point…_

 _You see, Erik's gregarious and charming demeanour, stood shield to a silent dam of shame and a deep-seated, boiling well of self-loathing._

 _This burning undercurrent of revulsion came to a particularly volatile breach one drug-fuelled night as he was rocking over an easy-paid lay with ice-blue, charcoal-smudged eyes during an extravagant masked ball that his parents were hosting. Her white, layered bustle skirt was a chaotic mess of tulle and satin up around her neck and her eyes shone bright, framed within the white eye mask she was wearing._

 _Despite her requisite mute submission, she questioned him with breathless, drunk audacity; dragging her paint-chipped thumb over a scar that pulled a tight, shiny line from his nose down to and up under his lip, "What happened to your face Louie?"_

 _His eyes grew livid and black and his temples pulsed as he questioned her roughly - the shiny line above his lip shortening to bare his teeth… his hand clasped angrily around her throat as the dam of anger burst in a torrent of intense fury._

 _A repentant reply died cloaked as a breathless sob over her blue-tinged lips… a nauseating snap and an exploding, burning sensation radiated from where his thumb had burrowed intently up and under her mandible. Furious, choking heat… that was the last sensation the blue-eyed beauty felt as her short life, and her even shorter-lived career, was effortlessly snuffed out._

 _Later that night, as he stood hunched over the vanity below his ensuite mirror; shoulders tensed – scrutinising, criticizing; Erik, for the first time in his life, felt a rush of visceral strength… a surge of gut-felt, raw power._

 _For once in his life, Erik James Leroux the Third felt completely, heart-thumpingly alive, and… indubitably… one hundred per cent… sincerely true to himself_...

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 **I trade you reviews for the next chapter ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, there's 5 chapters in total, all written and ready to go... let me know your thoughts.**

 **...**

Tugging his coat down over the clothes hook, Booth's ears prick and his neck bristles as the loud, haunting pipe organ overture of The Phantom of the Opera blasts resoundingly through the cavernous walls of his home.

His fear is on instant alert; disturbed by the resonance and volume of the state of the art sound system built into his and Brennan's home; instead of placing his firearms into his safe as he normally would at the end of his working day, Booth reaches for his gun and cautiously releases the safety.

The music is so loud that it slices through his body; the church fuelled base of the overture sends chills down his spine and brings tears unwantedly to his eyes… where is Bones? Where is Christine?

Brennan told him earlier today that she'd had an appointment this afternoon… he wasn't expecting her to even be home but he _senses_ her… and given the human silence, this gut feeling of Booth's, alarms him soul deep.

…

Booth steadies his gun and steps silently through a choreographed sweep of his home… nothing found; nothing obvious downstairs… and _still…_ the reverberating, soul clawing duuuun…dun-dun-dun-dun-duuuun… dun-dunt of the ghostly pipe organ…

As his feet skip hesitantly, one by one, up the stairs, Booth's hair raises with the ethereal resonance of the music… an intense crescendo peaks as the clear voice of Michael Crawford pierces with abandoned passion through the normally calm nature of Booth's home…

"Sing once again with me, a strange duet,

'My power over you, grows stronger yet,

"And though you turn from me,

"To glance behind…

"The Phantom of the Opera is there… inside your mind."

…

A chill runs down his spine as the pieces fall into place in his head… The killings, the rage, the way that the bodies had been disposed, the white masks that covered only the top half of their face… Booth suddenly realises who the Streetwalker Strangler is… he takes the stairs two by two.

...

 _Shower spraying hotly, Erik's eyes rolled back with a release of pleasure and a decadence filled moan - momentarily sated, he allowed his submissive to rise from her master-given place kneeled in front of his naked body…_

 _Her gaze hesitated, staring intently; curiously just above his lips before she diverted her focus to the soapy water that was swiftly circling the drain._

 _Noticing the inspecting path of her eyes over his face, he grasped her by the neck and shoved her, forcing her lithe body against the tiles with a thud, "What are you looking at Joy?"_

 _Her water streaked black-lined eyes darted to the tops of his lips before her gaze stalled, "Nothing Erik, I'm just…' she tugged incessantly at his grasp, "I'm just admiring your strength… above me… you make me so wet Erik… you truly do." she hummed nervously; worry bleeding fluently from her eyes._

 _"_ _Wrong answer, Joy!"_

 _"_ _No!" she shrieked desperately, innately knowing what was coming to her, "No, Erik! Please!" He grasped her solidly by the throat, his eyes black and wide; fingers wrapped behind, his thumb edged higher - intently digging into the sensitive depression where her jaw hovered her throat, "Erik, trust me … trust me, please… I love you Erik, please!"_

 _"_ _I've been watching you Joy…" He snarled, teeth showing, scar flexing above his lips, divulging a ground out long saved promise, "Your eyes give you away, Joy… too much dumb spontaneous spirit… yet not enough… not enough personality… not enough,_ grit _… not enough…_ kick _."_

 _Choking under his unwavering strength, she begged, "No! Erik! No, I swear! I'll do whatever you want…"_

 _He pushed her effortlessly under the spray of the shower, thumb resting tightly over her throat until he slid it up further under her mandible before the thrilling snap of the hyoid and a burning thrashing response of her body. She flailed, wide-eyed under the hot spray of the water, staring him desperately down until her breathing ceased and a vail of peace descended remorsefully over her empty eyes._

 _Erik smiled over a shudder… his pupils unnervingly black and dilated…_

 _Letting her drop like a magnet drawn to the tiled floor, Erik stepped calmly out of the shower cubical and dried himself off with quiet, confident ease before slipping into bed._

 _He resolved silently…No-one… NO-ONE will ever see Erik Leroux as ugly or deformed... even though deep within his consciousness he believed himself as unworthy and ugly…_

 _Not one single thought unencumbered by_ his _skin, by_ his _mind or by_ his _body would EVER deem him to be different in a horrible, ugly way… Erik Leroux will take his shame… AND his self-abhorrence… and his power… to his grave._

 _…_ _and if it takes a blind horde of disrespectful, out-of-line whores to go with him then, he reasoned, so be it… his eyes lightened excitedly at the thought and he chuckled as a sinister verse formed in his mind, "the more whores the merrier… the sprightly a hooker – the more likely I'll burry her."_

 _It's this wistful, callous tune that lulled the third heir to the Leroux throne into a deep unawareness as his subconscious mind came to a justified and clear understanding of his responsibilities… the fact that his clandestine life was about to come unravelled bore no grunt to Erik's reflections as his dreams ghosted blissfully, aimlessly overtop his soul like a dark, rotting stench… thick and permeating._

 _..._

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	3. Chapter 3

_The gravel beneath their feet crunched loudly as Booth, Brennan and Sweets stepped up to the grand entrance of the Leroux residence, "No, Booth, it's pronounced 'Luh-roo' not 'Ler-rokes'. You'll offend them right off the racket if you pronounce their name incorrectly like that."_

 _Booth threw her a charming smile and winked, letting her in on the fact that he was having a go at her, before knocking loudly on the carved timber and wrought iron feature door, "it's_ bat _Bones, not racket. I'll offend them right off the bat."_

 _She rolled her eyes good naturedly, "Yeah, well, tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to."_

 _He grinned, pointing at her, "exactly!"_

 _Sat in the sunroom, Sweets and Brennan observed silently as Booth questioned Erik, his parents and workers. At one point Booth discretely mentioned the scar above Erik's lip and Brennan was quick to jump in and explain, her hand held out, drawing attention to Erik's face, "It's a cleft lip scar, Booth. Obviously, during foetal development, parts of Erik's lips did not fuse properly… in his case it was quite severe as his scar indicates a bilateral cleft and his slight speech impediment suggests a severe cleft palate, also…"_

 _She was cut off abruptly by Booth's reprimand, "Bones! Shush! A little discretion!"_

 _Booth apologised profusely and Brennan quietened but Sweets observed… he'd noticed the way Erick's eyes darkened exponentially, and he'd seen how his nostrils flared with barely disguised rage… Sweets' spidey senses tingled._

 _However, any suspicion Sweets had for Erik dulled as the three of them walked back to Booth's SUV; when a bearded bodyguard named Mathew jumped Brennan, gun pointed; shaking at her head. Using her as a human shield, Matthew tearfully revealed unreleased information about the killings and confessed to the murder of all four women – all of them paid staff of the manor._

 _With a grunt he pushed Brennan into the gravel before turning his gun on Booth and Sweets…_

 _Booth's voice was steady, "Drop the gun Matthew, or I'll shoot… drop the gun, Matthew! I_ will _shoot!" but, with a tweak of the trigger, Mathew's bullet bit gravel at the feet of the psychologist and Booth responded instantly… Matthew fell to the ground in a bloody heap, his torso shot through-and-through at close range._

 _…_

When his phone rings, Booth pauses at the top of the stairs and juggles his phone and gun, he lifts the phone to one ear, plugging the other to muffle the loud music, "Make it quick, I'm busy!"

Sweets' rushed voice fills his ear, "Agent Booth, it's Lance, listen, I just got a call from Dr Saroyan, she tried to ring Dr Brennan but apparently she's not answering. Anyway, Mathew had a cleft lip scar also… we didn't notice it because of the beard but, yeah, cleft lip and cleft palate. Obviously Dr Saroyan compared the DNA pulled from the sperm found on Joy Ellen and, Booth, it wasn't Mathew but it _was_ around about a 50% match. I'd bet my X-Box that Mathew was Erik's father… a relative DNA match, together with the cleft palate condition will most definitely be more than enough for a warrant for a sample of Erik's DNA.

Sweets paused for a breath, "Then it got me thinking, Booth, the way Matthew reacted when he confessed - he was emotional and repentant. But, ya see, a cold blooded killer such as the Streetwalker Strangler fills the profile of a sociopath, at the very least a narcissist – incapable of feeling remorse or guilt unless they are threatened themselves! Then I remembered Erik's reaction to Dr Brennan's explanation of his cleft lip and, Booth, dude, he was unabashedly raged.

"It's likely, in my professional opinion that Erik, a body dysmorphic sociopath, killed these women in a heated rage, probably after they brought attention to his scar or speech impediment. His Dad, Matthew, mortified and in over his head, proceeds to cover up his son's killings and, to take the spotlight off of his son, he acts as a martyr and sacrifices his life for his son's misgivings… suicide by execution."

Booth's face pales and a cold sweat prickles at his temples, "So, Brennan outright insulted a serial killer today… where does that leave her?"

Sweets brow furrowed in a grave expression, "In great danger, Booth… in great danger."

Booth barks out an order to call Caroline for a warrant, snaps his phone shut and, finally, finding the remote, turns the music down. Slinking into the room he shares with Brennan, a wintry cold escapes from beneath the billowing curtains spilling over the open windows… it's late fall… Brennan and he _never_ open their windows in fall let alone almost winter.

He steps further into his room, the pungent smell of ammonia burning his nostrils; his ears register the steady hum of the ensuite shower…

As he creeps stealthily into the steam-heavy space of their shared ensuite, Booth's breath catches and his heart stalls when he looks through the misty shower screen… he can't see much – just a glimpse… but just a glimpse had his world spinning… just a glimpse of the lower half his wife's leg, extended flat over the blood-red covered floor of their shower had the bile rising into his mouth.

...

 **So, what do you think? Are you worried?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to those who have left reviews! I really appreciate it!**

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 _Previously..._

 _As he creeps stealthily into the steam-heavy space of their shared ensuite, Booth's breath catches and his heart stalls when he looks through the misty shower screen… he can't see much – just a glimpse… but just a glimpse had his world spinning… just a glimpse of the lower half his wife's leg, extended flat over the blood-red covered floor of their shower had the bile rising into his mouth._

…

Booth's body springs to life as he bursts through the ensuite, wrenching open the shower screen.

Perched, on the floor of the shower, Brennan lets out a startled squeal, flicking water up in his general direction, "Booth! What the hell are you doing?"

His knees give out; patella's hitting the tiles as he crawls desperately over to her... dropping his gun on the way. Wide-eyed and terrified, with no regard for what the wet shower spray is doing to his suit, Booth's hands travel gently, worriedly - inspecting her face, arms, hands, trying to determine where the blood-red stain was coming from… it was slipping in bright rivulets down over her breasts, tummy and legs onto the vivid puddle she was sitting in.

As her fright dissipates, Brennan slowly recognises the look on her husband's face – _absolute_ _terror_. Her tone softens, as she places the razor she was holding onto the tiled floor and reaches her wet hand to reassuringly caress his stubbly face, "Booth? Booth, what's wrong?"

Booth's voice returns tripping over a choked whisper: "Are you? Bones, are you hurt?"

Her brow furrows, confused, "No, Booth. What's wrong?"

His wet hands lift to his head to frustratingly squeeze fistfuls of hair… looking pleadingly to the heavens, he moans, "Jeez, Bones! Were you trying to kill me here? What the hell are you doing sitting on the floor of our shower surrounded by red… red… what?!"

Brows still creased, she explains logically, "Angela maintains that red heads have more fun. Though a completely baseless supposition, I decided to humour her and test out that theory by colouring my hair red. I had an appointment this afternoon but it was cancelled because my hair stylist went into labour and so, being a genius, I decided to do it myself… it is a bit messy though… and the smell…" She turns up her nose in distaste.

"What? Why? Why are you sitting on the floor of the shower?"

She gets to her knees and stands, placing her head directly under the shower head with her eyes falling closed, rinsing the colour out of her hair properly. Red water spatters like bloody rain over his new suit, "I was shaving my legs Booth. I find it easier to sit down when I shave." She opens one eye briefly to look him up and down, "What's got you so pent up?"

He sighs, stands; picks up and holsters the gun he'd dropped into the floor and explains what they'd learnt at the lab - Sweets' interpretation of the facts and the consequent danger she'd inadvertently put herself in when insulting Erik.

Water running clear, Brennan wrings out her hair, turns the faucet off and steps out of the shower to grab a towel. Shaking her head, she offers a throaty chuckle, "So… so you thought… what? You thought he'd murdered me?"

He grumbles defensively, not appreciating the fact that his wife was making fun at him, "Well, what would you think Bones, huh? I walk in to my bathroom; see my wife lying lifeless on the floor surrounded by what honest-to-God looked like a helluva lot of blood… of course I thought that! Geez, cut me some slack would ya!"

Wrapping the towel around her hair, still naked she steps up to him, looking contritely through her lashes, nipples hardening with the thought of what she's about to suggest, "Christine's with Angela," She ran her finger from his tie knot to his belt buckle and finished on a purr, " let me show you how _alive_ I really am Booth."

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 **OK. please don't shoot me... like I said, this whole story came to me in the shower (I was dying my hair bright red)... I honestly believe I gave my 5 year old daughter a heart attack with the bloody mess... poor little darling.**

 **Anyhoo, now for some smut...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello friends, thank you for your reviews and support.**

 **This is the last chapter... please leave a review to let me know what you think.**

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At the sight of her, breathing; eyes sparkling; nipples pert and awakened, and with the adrenaline still coursing through his body, Booth is instantly hard but - struggling for purchase in his aroused mind is the thought that there is a killer to catch tonight so he objects weakly, his voice half an octave higher than normal, "Bones, we've gotta get him."

She grips him unabashedly; tightly through his dress pants, "Booth, your body has just sustained a substantial rush of adrenaline… your amygdala is on high alert… your pupils are dilated… your heart was positively tachycardic back there – I could see it pulsing beneath your collar, and your skin," she shucks his jacket off onto the bathroom floor and rolls up the sleeve of his dress shirt, "your skin is highly sensitive… look… horripilation…" at his confused look she smiles seductively beneath her lashes, running a tickling finger across his forearm, "…Goosebumps, Booth… it's a vestigial, physiological reaction to fear and… _extreme_ sexual arousal."

He groans; growing impossibly harder… she gets him every time with her squint talk… it like his kryptonite.

She pushes him backwards so he stumbles over his jacket into their bedroom and lands unceremoniously amidst the pillows of their bed. Brennan shakes the towel from her head with a sultry smile and he finally notices the crop of un-Brennan-like vibrant fire truck red, "Booth, with your heightened state, I doubt you'll last a minute… and I believe you could be forgiven on all accounts."

Brennan swiftly divests him of his trousers and makes quick work of unbuttoning his dress shirt… halfway through, she grunts impatiently, ripping apart the remaining buttons, eyes glinting as she edges easily atop him, "You see, there's very little difference between the biological responses of fear and sexual arousal but there is one sure way to eliminate the symptoms regardless of the cause."

Booth's smart mouthed reply instantly evaporates and his eyes roll back as she, without warning, impales herself over him - filling herself to the full.

Breathing through the always-emotional response to their coupling, Brennan sighs before rocking, grinding sensuously above him… each thrust bringing her taut, bouncing breasts closer to his wet, wanting mouth.

On a particularly deep stroke of luck, Booth captures her left nipple with his lips, suckling, nibbling, blowing hotly whilst his hand works with dexterous ease – bringing the right to a taut, aroused peak before his mouth latches on to it - soothing the tight mound with the warmth of his circling tongue.

With innate impulse, Brennan's pace kicks up a gear… plunging hungrily over him with long pulls, shucking and sheathing the full length of his shaft from head to balls; her orgasm builds and peaks like the repeated strike of a match over flint until a roaring fire of pleasure burns swiftly through her body.

Clutching her butt, white-knuckled, Booth drives with abandon beneath her… once, twice and on the third thrust he fills her deep with his seed; pulsing, grunting, writhing from a climax more intense than he'd felt in a long time.

Collapsing against his throbbing throat, Brennan smiles as she tries to catch her breath, "Three minutes... three minutes and 58 seconds… I told you that you wouldn't last long."

Booth feigns offence, "You were keeping count? Come on Bones, that's just nasty!"

She smiled a satisfied smile, "That was better than my initial postulation of one minute… you should be proud, Booth."

He shrugs and smacks her swiftly on the butt, "Yeah, yeah, come on woman, we've got a killer to catch."

Just then, Booth's phone trills with a message from Caroline informing him that she'd procured a warrant for Erik's DNA.

All business after a mind-blowing round of sex… Booth dresses in jeans and a vintage T-shirt, breathing deeply, grateful for his all-body calm…

…

 _Stepping up to his daughter's night shadowed front yard, Max Brennan's neck bristled with awareness… his sixth sense was never wrong and, right now, it was screaming for attention._

 _Fingering the short, shiv-like copper pipe resting in his pocket, Max takes a deep breath and walks fearlessly across the lawn._

 _He sees shadowed movement in the fragrant sumac – the deciduous shrub that underlines the windows of the Booth/Brennan house._

 _Max strides up to the spritely shadow, fisting the hair atop of the intruder's scalp and wrenching the head back to stare threateningly into his eyes; Max's copper blade piercing the tender flesh of Erik's throat, "What are you doing staring through the windows of my daughter's house, huh?"_

 _Erik stammers, cringing as he feels the warm trickle of blood tickling down his throat - slipping through the V of the collar of his shirt._

 _Max growls, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slice your sorry ass open and burn your filthy excuse of an existence to the ground."_

 _This is a first for Erik; no-one has ever stood up to him before, and no-one has ever threatened him before and he really, really doesn't like it. Realising that he is definitely, well and truly out-ranked, he flounders, stuttering… "She's, she's…" as the sharpened pipe slices deeper into his throat, a warm, uric stench bleeds from the front of Erik's pants and he back pedals frantically… "She's not worth it! She's not worth it, let me go! Please, let me go!"_

 _Max smiles darkly, "Did you just… did you just piss yourself?" he tightens his grip on Erik's head, plunging and grinding his face into the wet, earthy grass of the lawn… "You better run fast son, before I change my mind... and, trust me, son, from one cold-blooded killer to the next, you don't want me to change my mind." With another thrust of his face into the dank, thick grass, Erik stumbles and claws desperately. Managing to twist free, Erik sprints gutlessly to his vehicle and speeds away…_

 _Reaching the front steps, Max Brennan dusts himself off proudly. His ears pricking with the distinct, pleasured moans of a couple in love… he pauses as the sobbed, "Oh,_ **oh** _, OH, Booth!" cuts through the dark night air… then, smiling to himself and shaking his head, he turns on his heel leaving discretely… a silent, brave crime-fighting phantom of the night…_

 _…_

After an action filled night and an easy, somewhat, panicked confession from the true murderer, Booth and Brennan lay snuggled together, stripped of clothing in the quiet early morning, amidst the comforting warmth of their bed, "So," he smiles lazily, "What was with the loud, crazy opera music before? I gotta say, it scared the absolute shit outa me Bones."

Her eyebrows quirk amusedly, " _Well_ … I was looking for a birthday present for Angela in the mall when I came across The Phantom of the Opera compact disc… the case had a picture of a mask _similar_ to the ones on the faces of the decedents' in our Streetwalker Strangler case. It piqued my interest."

She pauses, "I read the sleeve. I'm not quite certain why I felt compelled to purchase it but, erhaps it was the coincidental fact that the author's surname is _Leroux_."

Booth tries to catch up, "Huh?"

"The Phantom of the Opera was written by Gaston Leroux… and the protagonist in his story wore a mask to cover scaring on his face… I found the similarities between our case and the Phantom story intriguing. If I were to believe that my gastrointestinal tract held any influence over my awareness as you maintain yours does… I would say that, sitting in the shower, piecing it all together, I _knew_ Erik was the killer even before you told me of Sweets' conclusion."

He nudges her affectionately, "Hey, I'm rubbin' off on ya Bones!"

She smiles, rolling her eyes, "Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it... I am an empirical scientist through and through."

They lay in contemplative silence for one or two minutes both aware of the other's naked state before Booth laughs deeply, "All things said and done, I think you'll have to hand it to Angela this time, Bones."

Her eyebrow lifts in silent inquiry, "What? Why?"

He grins salaciously before rolling her beneath him, "C'mon, baby, you've gotta admit after tonight… red-heads may just have a _leeedle_ bit more fun!" she giggles and he adds, voice filled with impish tease as he presses firmy into her, thrusting anew "MMmmm, yeah, baby… my red-headed minx… I'll make it my personal responsibility and duty to make certain you have more fun…"

...

 **Please let me know your honest thoughts... I think I need to really learn from this fic! Thank you for reading!**


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